


My Sins Won't Leave Me

by Jayden und Verwelkt (SailorVFan10)



Category: Fire Emblem
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorVFan10/pseuds/Jayden%20und%20Verwelkt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This can't be happening, he thought, as she gently placed her hand on top of his, wincing slightly, and looked up at him. Little did he know losing her was the catalyst in what would inevitably lead to a fall from grace and a path of self-destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mark of the Asphodel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mark+of+the+Asphodel), [Asherien](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Asherien).



> After reading the game script to Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow, I was inspired by that whole bad ending where Soma turns evil because the woman he loves dies and he basically goes insane and kills people. So I got to thinking, "Gee, what would happen if Marth became evil?" Marth isn't necessarily 'evil' in this fic, but that was the idea originally, where Marth was 'evil' instead of Hardin. So I bounced this idea off of my friends on my Livejournal because that's what I do, and I wasn't going to actually write it, because who would read a fic about dark!Marth? Apparently Mark of the Asphodel and Asherien did. So then the real fun began, and I started crafting the story that unfolds in front of you. I enjoyed writing this first chapter, even though it took me a while and survived the move I just went through, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it! **Warning:** There is character death. This is something you should get used to because it will happen throughout the fic. Also as the story progresses, the darker things become, so keep that in mind. And this is an alternate ending to FE11, which takes an actual possible ending (the bad ending) and going based off of that. So FE12 doesn't exist because it is drastically different. There are elements of FE12 in this, naturally. All of this is technically going off of canon because these are all _possibilities_.
> 
> Beta'd by Asherien  
> Written for Mark of the Asphodel

**My Sins Won't Leave Me**

 **-One-**

"Caeda!"  
He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. There was a chill that ran through his body and Marth recognised that chill for what it was - fear. He ran to her pegasus, which landed on the ground gracelessly, feathers everywhere as she swayed on her mount.

"M-Marth..."  
He was there to catch her when her strength to stay on Niamh left her. Behind him, Marth heard Norne nock an arrow and let it soar, hitting her mark to mortally wound, but not kill right away. She cursed and fired again, making sure to take the wind into account this time. Marth ignored what was going on around him and focused instead on the woman in his arms. Her armour was cracked right where the arrow pierced through, blood seeping from the wound at a rapid pace. They fell to the ground, Marth on his knees as Caeda laid across his lap, his hand covering the wound in an attempt to stem the blood flow.

 _This can't be happening_ , he thought, as she gently placed her hand on top of his, wincing slightly, and looked up at him. Marth could see the pain in her eyes, though she tried to keep her expressions under control. She was always so strong for him and now here she was, in his arms, completely helpless and dying.

"Sire!"  
Voices were calling for him, but he didn't hear them, couldn't hear them. The woman he loved but told himself he couldn't have was going to be taken from his grasp by the gods, just as his father and mother were. He held her close to him, mindful of her injury, other hand buried in her hair, his forehead pressed against hers.  
"I'm sorry," Marth whispered.  
Caeda chuckled weakly. "Don't be, Marth. This... This isn't your fault. I should have been more ca-careful."  
Marth's embrace tightened. He knew her time was so short, and yet there were so many things he wanted to tell her...  
"Marth..."

A single drop of rain fell on what was left of Caeda's chest armour, followed by another, and another, until a downpour emerged from the clouds. _Even the heavens are weeping_ , Marth thought, not caring if he ended up soaked.

"Marth, I lo-" Marth placed a finger to her lips, shushing her.

"Don't speak," he said.

Caeda coughed and Marth gently wiped away the blood that had collected at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, once so brilliantly blue, like the waters surrounding Talys, looked so dark, so clouded, like the skies shortly before a storm. She palmed his cheek and wiped away tears Marth didn't even know were falling. He wasn't the type to cry; Marth knew she knew this. Perhaps that was why she tried to smile as best as she could. Marth finally removed the hand covering her still seeping wound and placed it over the hand on his cheek, turning into it to lightly kiss at the calloused palm.

"Goodbye, Marth...," she practically whispered, her voice sounding so far away. "Stay strong...for me..."

He felt her body relax in his arms and saw her head loll to the side, the rain making trails down her face, matting her hair to her hair, staining her clothes. Marth felt numb, couldn't breathe, couldn't register the fact that Caeda was in his arms and yet off to where warriors went in the afterlife, to endless fields of asphodel where they would spend the rest of eternity. He kissed her forehead and stared at her face for a moment before kissing her chastely on the mouth.

 _This is the price of war_ , Marth thought, as he fell back onto his heels. The dirt below him was quickly turning to mud, marring his clothing, but he didn't care. Caeda was dead and only the Aum staff could bring her back - if it was ever found and someone could use it. He closed Caeda's eyes, feeling sick to his stomach and lost.

"Sire," came a voice. Marth said nothing, found himself unable to say anything. Cain stepped around him so he was in Marth's line of sight and Marth looked at him as if he was some strange being.

"Sire-"

"She's gone." Cain looked at the young woman in his liege's arms and then at his liege before nodding to someone behind Marth. Abel came next to him, grabbed Marth by the arm, and with Cain's help, helped him to his feet, though Marth nearly fell to the earth once more. Marth was less concerned about himself and more about Caeda.

"I need to inform King Mostyn of what has happened," was all Marth said. Abel kept his grip on Marth's arm, preventing him from leaving.

"Sire-"

"Abel." Marth looked to the green haired cavalier. "Let me go."

Abel reluctantly let Marth's arm go, but not before shooting Cain a worried look behind his back.

"Where is camp set up?"

Cain pointed straight ahead, between what appeared to be an alcove of trees. "That way, sire."

Marth nodded his thanks and willed his legs to move towards the encampment where he could prepare Caeda's body for the funeral, and his note to her father bearing the bad news.

 _It's better if he hears this from me, in my own hand _,__ Marth thought, as he reached his tent. He placed Caeda down gently, handling her as if she were a fragile doll, and turned to the makeshift table where there were sheets of parchements, feather-pens, and quills scattered about. Normally Marth's workspace - if it could be called that - was a little more organised than this, but this attack had surprised them. Medeus wasn't going to let up now, not with them so close... He sat down on the crate that was his chair, the wood groaning in protest, unfastened his mud and blood stained cape and let it lay where it fell behind his seat. He looked at his hand, the one that had tried to stem the bleeding and saw the pale skin had been tinged brown. Stained, like dye for fabric. He clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the tabletop, his jaw clenched.

"You are their leader," Marth muttered. "You cannot afford to break down now. You must be strong, lift the spirits of your men, show them that you can shoulder this burden alone, just as your ancestor did so many years ago." After all, it wasn't as if someone else could save the world in his place. What was so great about playing the part of the hero when there was little saving and mostly death-dealing? The heroes in the stories his mother had told him as a little boy always saved the princess in the end, after killing the evil dragon. Back then, he had wanted to be that hero, the one to rescue the princess.

He touched his lips absent-mindedly. Her lips had been warm still, and soft, and his heart sank as he remembered the tingle he felt when they connected. He would never feel that again, he knew.

He failed at saving his princess.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big huge thanks to Asherien, who beta read this and helped with cultural ideas and attire, and Xirysa, who helped me with the funeral scene.

When Marth was a child, his mother used to tell him bedtime stories, stories about the gods and of legendary heroes, of forgotten lands and forgotten dreams.  
"If you are good," she had said into his hair as he sat upon her lap, the book of old folktales opened in front of them, "then the gods will look favourably on you as well."  
"But what about Papa?" He had turned to look at his mother inquisitively. "He's a warrior..."  
She had turned the page and he remembered the rich illustrations of the afterlife where heroes who fought for their gods won eternal glory.  
"Papa will be justly rewarded as well, just as I've always told you. He fights the gods' enemies after all, and does his best to protect his people."  
Marth had squirmed in her lap. "Will Papa always be here to protect us?"  
He remembered his mother's gentle smile, the way it always reached her eyes.  
"Always, Marth. Always."

Marth forced himself from his reverie and looked to the body in the tent he had had Jagen and the others erect - a tent of mourning.  
 _My lady mother... Forgive me, but you were wrong_.  
He pressed a hand to Caeda's cheek, frowning at the absence of warmth in her face. It had barely been a day and he felt each second ticking by so slowly it was a wonder it was so late in the day. Caeda looked so pale, pale like a porcelain doll, and just as fragile. Marth remembered when he arrived in Talys, how she had remarked on how he was so light compared to her sun-kissed skin. "We used to joke about how I was always protecting you," Marth whispered, his hand moving from her face to her hand, the same one that wiped away his tears as he tried to keep her there with him, "but... You were the one protecting me." He felt overwhelmed, like he was drowning and unable to find shore, find something to grasp upon. He took a deep breath and nearly choked.

 _Steady yourself, Marth_ , he thought. _You are the face of your people - act like it!_

He pulled his hand away and got to his feet, willing himself to regain his composure. The camp was quiet, save for the murmur of the watchmen and a noise in the bushes and Gordin shouting that whatever it was would be breakfast the next day. Marth opened the tent flap to let in some cool air and a smell he should have been used to by now wafted through the air, left over from the battles they fought today. The stench of blood and metal and dirt drifted in on the wind, cool from the downpour earlier, and the canvas of the tent wrinkled in Marth's fist. He felt like tearing it all down and just walking away.

 _If only it was that easy._

oOo

"Sire, we can't just take a detour like this."  
Marth was well aware of Cain's eyes and envisioned that Cain must have thought him crazy for asking this.  
"I must do what I feel is right," was all Marth said, straightening in his seat.  
"Forgive me, sire, but I don't think right now is a good time to be planning funerals." Cain pointed to the map where 'Talys' had been scrawled out in less than perfect writing. The map was old and well-used and whoever wrote the names on it appeared to have had a shaky hand.  
"We would have to take a severe detour and, quite frankly, sire, we just don't have the time. Gharnef is almost right in front of our eyes. If we don't defeat him both now, the consequences-"  
"I know the consequences," said Marth calmly, and Cain looked like he had just been backhanded. "Everyone around me has made it perfectly clear that if I don't do this or that, then there will be consequences and the gods won't look upon me favourably. For once, can I do something not because it is expected of me, but because I choose to?" He wore a look of defiance, he knew, and he knew it didn't really suit his features. He took after his mother in facial structure - or so he had always been told - and she always wore a smile, never a frown or a look of opposition.

Marth could tell Cain didn't know what to say or how to answer him. Marth knew he had a point, but then again, there was the issue of being practical.  
"Once the funeral services are over and done with," Cain said, and the look he had on his face was one of resignation and reluctance, "you must return to the immediate problem, which would be defeating Gharnef so you can retrieve the sacred blade Falchion."  
Marth nodded. "Certainly." There was just a hint of resentment in his words and he hoped Cain didn't pick up on it. "Please tell Jagen at once of my plans."  
Cain stood up from the table, his actions causing the candlelight to flicker, and asked, "Sire, what about an escort?"  
 _Because it isn't like Father didn't teach me how to use a sword_.  
"I'll have you, Merric, and Jagen accompany me."  
"And the army? Who shall lead the army in your absence, sire?"

Marth thought for a moment. It wasn't just a matter of someone who could lead, but someone he could trust as well.  
"Abel," Marth suggested. "He is the only other who can do so since he is second captain of the army."  
Cain looked contemplative for a moment before nodding his head, a bit of red hair falling into his eyes. He smoothed his hair back and said, "Yes, sire." After all, there was no one else to turn to who had the same rank as Abel, and no one Marth trusted more. Marth nodded his approval.  
"Send for him at once."  
Cain bowed. "Yes, my lord." Cain left without another word, leaving Marth to his thoughts. His eyes drifted to the mark on the map, where Talys was, and wondered if the messenger he sent yesterday reached there yet. Merchant vessels were usually made of high quality materials, designed for space and to weather the heavy storms that went through the waters at this time of year, as well as for speed. Well, at least these were what the boats that docked at Talys for the purpose of trading goods were made of.

"Prince Marth, if I may intrude for just a moment..."  
Marth's muscles tensed at the intruder's voice, that soft, feminine voice that sounded so unsure, like a child's; she was outside his tent asking for permission to enter.  
 _Nyna.  
_ Marth straightened and cleared his throat. "Princess Nyna," he said, trying to sound like his father always had in meetings and audiences - neutral, "come in."  
The tent opened and there, standing in a stark, unadorned dress with a cloak to hide her features, was Princess Nyna, her hands clasped in front of her as Draug - the knight guarding his quarters - permitted her to enter. The flap closed behind her and Marth stood, as etiquette detailed. He offered her the seat on the other side of the table and she sat slowly, as if unsure if she wanted to sit or stand, and removed the hood from her face, letting it fall onto her shoulders. Marth hesitated a moment before sitting down as well.  
"What do you need, Lady Nyna?"

Nyna looked guilty of something, like a child who was caught sneaking sweets before supper.  
"I couldn't help but overhear that you are planning on sailing to Talys," she began, staring more at her hands than at Marth. Marth hated it when people talked to him and yet refused to look directly into his eyes. His father always said it was a sign of dishonesty; his mother always said it was a sign of shyness.  
 _I certainly hope it is the latter, and you are not trying to take me for a fool.  
_ "Yes," Marth confirmed. "It is my duty as commander of the army to take the dead to their loved ones."  
Nyna nodded and looked up at him. "In Caeda's case, it is even more important to do so. She is a princess and deserves to return to her homeland…."  
 _She didn't deserve to die in the first place_ , Marth thought, the slant of his eyebrows changing ever-so slightly. "What have you come here for, Lady Nyna?"  
Nyna cleared her throat and looked at Marth a little more intensely. "I wish to go with you."  
Marth shook his head once. "I cannot allow that, Princess."  
"Marth-"  
He raised a hand and she fell silent.

"As it stands," Marth said, returning his arm to its original position on the half-rotted table, "it is already a risk with just myself and a couple of knights. I cannot afford to let you come with us when so many people are after you."  
Nyna shook her head, her eyes narrowed. "I wish to pay my respects. After all, King Mostyn has just lost his only daughter."  
Marth clenched his jaw. Hearing that was like squeezing lime juice into an open wound. He saw an apologetic look flash in Nyna's eyes.  
"F-Forgive me, Marth, I did not mean to cause you any more pain."  
Marth reached across the table and gently placed his hand on hers and shook his head. She stared at it.  
"Marth?" She grasped at his hand and he pulled it away quickly. "Please, let me come with you."  
"I cannot-"  
Nyna silenced him with her hand on his, hers grasping tightly at his. "Do not forget that I have lost loved ones as well." _I can sympathize_ , she said with her eyes.

"You will not relent, will you?"  
Nyna shook her head. "I can be just as stubborn as you, Marth."  
Marth sighed. "Lady Nyna..."  
"I will be sure to remain hidden at all times, and I will not wear anything that would give my status away. Are we in agreement?"  
Marth nodded curtly. "We will be setting sail just a little after dawn. I expect you to be ready at that time."  
Nyna bowed slightly. "Of course."  
Marth stood, signaling this meeting had gone on long enough. "My lady."  
Nyna rose with ease and let Marth lead her to the entrance of the tent. He opened it and watched as she drew up her hood to protect herself from the sudden rain.  
"Be well, Prince Marth," she said.  
"You as well," he replied, and watched her walk through the rain to, hopefully, shelter of sorts.

"Draug," Marth said, "find me Cain. I need to tell him of our changed plans."  
Draug bowed. "Yes, sir."  
Marth looked skyward, blinking whenever a rain drop would fall on his face.  
"Lord Merric said it was going to be a windy, stormy day tomorrow," Draug said. "Be careful, sire. We cannot afford to lose you out at sea."  
 _Of course you can't._

oOo

The dampness in the cold air had Jagen complaining about the aches in his bones. Marth watched his breath condense in the air and took that to mean it was a lot colder than he felt right now.  
"I don't recall it being so bitterly cold at dawn," Cain said, pulling his fur lined cloak tighter around him. "This is the coldest it's been since the dead of winter."  
"You forget, Sir Cain, that it's barely into the thawing season," Merric said, "and that the waters around this time of the year are not yet warm."  
Cain leaned against the side of the sea vessel. "They are in Altea," he muttered, hugging one knee to his chest.  
At the mention of Altea, Marth became just a little homesick. It was bad enough that he, Cain, and Jagen were on a boat to Talys once before - here they were again, with the addition of Merric and Nyna and the exclusion of Gordin, Abel, and Draug.

 _It doesn't help that I hate sailing_.

He shivered and Merric moved so he was closer to him.  
"If you need me to, I can always start a fire to warm us all," said Merric. Marth did not fail to miss the hopeful gleam in the mage's eye. He remembered the last time Merric used fire magic around him—his mother and sister spent the better part of a day fixing Marth up. He smiled faintly at the memory of his mother and sister's gentle hands hovering over the burns, their voices chanting soothing sounding words. Of course, the healing magic they were using hurt more than the burns themselves.  
"That's quite all right, Merric," Marth said, his mind drifting back to the present, his eyes lingering on the hidden scars still left over from Merric's childhood magical experimentation. "I think if we huddle together, our body heat should be enough to keep us from catching a chill."  
Merric just shrugged and moved so his shoulder was touching Marth's.  
"I don't mind sharing body heat with you."  
Marth tried to not blush.

"How much longer until we are to Talys?" Merric questioned.  
Jagen gave him a look. "We just left about an hour ago, Young Merric."  
Merric looked to the sky. "It's hard to tell the time - there's too much fog."  
 _It was foggy then, too. Cold, foggy, and absolutely miserable._ Marth stood and walked over to the port side of the ship, his eyes cast to the ocean below and then to what he could see of the horizon.

 _Caeda won't be there to greet me this time._

oOo

Marth was more prepared for walking on land this time, or so he thought. Merric kept a firm grip on his arm the entire way down the walkway leading to the port. There were mostly fishermen at the docks at this time of day - the rest of the bustling port town would be deeper inside, going about their business inside their homes or shops. Marth kept his hood up, as he had done two years ago, and began the long, familiar walk to the castle, Merric next to him, then Nyna, dressed in a simple off-white gown, and Cain and Jagen following up the group. As he walked past, few even noticed him, and those who did didn't even give him a second glance. To them, he was a stranger, someone just passing through, someone who would be gone in a day or two. Marth kept a tight hold on the bundle in his arms and a queasy feeling arose from the pit of his stomach as Talys Castle came into view.

It was just as he remembered, with large stone masonry, wrought-iron gates, and beige cobblestone leading to the drawbridge and then continuing into the castle grounds proper. He shifted what he was carrying and stopped at the castle gates, where two guards were stationed.  
"What is your business, sir?" quipped the guard close to Merric.  
"I have an audience with King Mostyn," said Marth, as he removed his hood. "He should be expecting me."  
The soldier quirked an eyebrow. "Prince Marth of Altea? But you are supposed to be in-"  
"If you need further proof of who I am, I am willing to show it." He held out his hand and showed them the royal insignia engraved on his ring.  
The guard gestured to the other and the gates rose.  
"Right inside, Prince Marth." He tipped his helmet to the prince and Marth nodded before leading the way inside.

oOo

"The throne room is quite large," Merric remarked. "I don't recall seeing anything like it."  
Cain made a shushing noise and Marth almost felt Cain collide into his back. There, sitting atop the throne was King Mostyn, who looked at them with saddened, yet relieved eyes.  
"You have made it in record time, Prince Marth," he said, rising now from his seat. Marth got down on one knee and bowed as best as he could.  
"I wish we could have met under happier circumstances," Marth said, his eyes looking at the floor. Marth felt a hand on his shoulder and saw it was the king's.  
"Stand, Marth. You do not need to show subservience to me."  
Marth stared at him for but a moment before standing once more.  
"Now what is the news you have to share with me?"  
Marth felt confused. "Have you not received my letter?"  
"I have not received any letters since the beginning of the month."

 _That's the last time I trust merchants from Medon._

"So then you do not know..."  
"Do not know what?"  
Marth swallowed the lump forming in his throat and willed his heart to stop pounding against his rib cage.  
"I have brought Caeda back to you, Your Majesty."  
King Mostyn's eyes brightened. "Caeda? Where is she?"  
Marth cleared his throat and pulled back a corner of the cloth wrapped around what he was holding. King Mostyn's face drained of all colour and he stumbled back a few paces.

Marth was holding the only child King Mostyn had in his arms as if she were some precious, priceless object, and his heart sank at the king's reaction.  
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Marth said, his voice soft, "I could not protect her."  
The king said nothing, his eyes wide as Marth fell back onto his knees.  
"I tried to save her," was all Marth could whisper. "I tried..."  
King Mostyn kneeled down in front of Marth. "You did nothing wrong, Marth. You cannot blame yourself."  
Marth looked him right in the eye.  
"I loved her," he said, finally admitting it to himself. "I loved your daughter..."  
The king nodded. "I know," he said. "She loved you as well."  
 _I know_ , Marth thought. _I know._

King Mostyn looked at his daughter in a way only a father could.  
"You did well, Marth," he said, glancing back at him. "You brought her home."

oOo

In the days that followed, the sky had brightened some, and Merric predicted that the weather would be warmer by week's end simply by gauging patterns in the winds. Marth tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible in the funeral arrangements, instead keeping himself busy with mundane, boring activities. Skipping rocks, especially, seemed to keep him from the fray.

He and Caeda used to come down to the beach near dusk, where she would feed the birds and skip the rocks on the ocean's surface. She even made a game out of it, and taught him how to play it. He chuckled as one of his rocks simply sunk in the water.  
 _Even now I'm rubbish at it.  
_ He didn't care, however, how great a rock skipper he was. The point was to keep his mind preoccupied with other things that had nothing to do with why he was in Talys, or the war that was still being waged in his absence all the way in Medon, or Gharnef or any of it. There was a creeping sense of irresponsibility, of rebellion, behind the decision he made.

"It feels good," he said to the seagulls above, as a cool ocean breeze swept over him, "to not have to listen to someone else for a change."  
 _But what about your comrades in Medon? What about Gharnef? What about retrieving Falchion? What about_ _ **Elice**_ _?  
_ Marth sighed. "My conscience, however, does not agree with me."  
He threw the last of his rocks into the water and took one last look at the beautiful view before turning on his heel and leaving.

oOo

When Marth woke up on his third day in Talys, the sun was peeking in from between the clouds and through the thin curtain covering his window. He rubbed at his eyes and turned over in his bed, his back to the window now. He didn't feel like admiring the sun today, not when today was going to be the bleakest one yet. He stumbled out of bed and pulled on his shirt and trousers before covering that with his tunic and fastening it closed with his sword belt. He pulled on his boots and fetched his cape from the corner of the headboard, made sure he had all of his personal effects, and left, closing the door behind him. The eastern castle was strangely quiet, despite the fact that it was occupied, and he figured Jagen and Cain would have been up by now, talking about battle plans and strategies they could use for when the fight against Gharnef came. He walked down the stairs and bumped into Merric along the way.

"I was just coming to get you," the mage said with a smile. "Sir Cain sent me to wake you."  
Marth peered past him. "What of Cain, then?"  
"He went on ahead to the castle with General Jagen... Just to scout the place out, of course."  
"And Princess Nyna? Where is she?"  
Merric seemed lost in thought briefly. "She is still secluded in her room. Sir Cain checked up on her this morning and said she was very deep in prayer."  
Marth nodded. "I see... Is it too late for breakfast?"  
Merric grinned. "Nope! I was just going to start it after I got you up and ready."  
Marth grimaced once Merric's back was turned and followed him down the stairs. He had good reason to be wary of Merric's cooking. For one thing, he made a mess. For another, the last time he tried to cook, he nearly set fire to the camp.

Unfortunately for Marth, Merric was the only one in the castle right now who knew how to cook.

oOo

"This place seems abandoned," Merric said, as he escorted Marth throughout the town. Cain and Jagen returned from their scouting and accompanied Princess Nyna to the castle, where they would meet up with them.  
"Why would someone go and leave their town like this?"  
"Sometimes you just need to move on. Perhaps they ran out of resources, or it just wasn't practical for them to live here anymore."  
Marth looked around at all of the closed shops, signs nailed to their doors declaring in Talysian that they were closed for a week of mourning. Marth lingered in front of one particular shop and Merric nearly walked on without his charge.  
"Marth?"  
Marth shook his head and caught up with his friend. "Nothing. Just a-"  
"Memories," Merric finished, nodding with understanding. "You and Princess Caeda used to visit this place a lot, or so you told me."

Marth continued walking. "It was her favourite place to go."  
Merric eventually fell in line with Marth's steps. "Do you know where it's actually taking place?"  
"Where what is taking place?"  
Merric shot him a look. "The funeral."  
"Oh." Marth paused for a moment. "At the beach, the one right by the castle."

They stopped at a fork in the road and Merric tried to read the signs. One pointed up a rather large hill lined by houses and trees; the other descended down a minor slope and was lined with brush and hedges.  
"Which way?"  
Marth pointed to the ascending path and Merric followed close behind. Merric's face was alight in excitement as he gazed at the scenery.

The path led into a clearing and there, right in front of the gates, were what looked to be hundreds of people clamouring about.  
"Should they know you're here, Marth?"  
Marth pulled the hood of his cloak up and made sure it kept his face hidden from view. "I am sure they will find out sooner or later, but I'd rather they not." He looked around, his eyes looking for something in particular... He grabbed Merric by the sleeve of his tunic and said, "This way."  
He heard Merric yelp as he pulled the mage after him, down a path that followed a stream. No one would know it was even there, the plants were so thick, and vines made it difficult to walk.  
"I'm guessing this is a secret path?"  
"Yes. King Mostyn and Caeda brought me this way when I first came here. The villagers were a little...wary of my coming here in the beginning."

Merric cried out and Marth steadied him so he wouldn't trip over an overgrown tree root.  
"Wary?" Merric questioned.  
"They thought I was going to lead the war here."  
After stepping over some bramble and dodging a low-hanging branch, they came to the back of the castle, near the courtyard, and again there were two paths - they could continue down on the road they were on, or they could go right and into the courtyard proper.  
"The princess and the others will be expecting us inside," Marth said. "We will have to go this way." He gestured to the clearer, more maintained path.  
"Will we have to bring them through here?"  
Marth shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. Not as long as no one can recognise us." He walked into the courtyard and Merric followed him, found the door that led into the kitchens, and tugged it open.

oOo

The sun was high in the sky, causing the water to shimmer in the light that managed to filter through the clouds. Though the sky wasn't as cloudy as it was in the morning when he first woke up, it was still a little overcast. He met Princess Nyna at the bottom of the sandy hill that led to the beach itself, sand marring the otherwise ivory fabric. The wind tugged at her braided hair, as if trying to remove the black netted veil from her head. If Marth didn't know any better, he could have said that the young woman in front of him was just an ordinary person, not a princess. Certainly not the princess of _Archanea_.

"Sir Cain said to wait inside the castle for you, but the view was just so lovely..." She turned around, away from him. "It saddens me that it is such a beautiful day and such a mournful occasion..."  
She walked all along the shoreline, towards the boat tied to the shore and Marth followed her. When she reached the starboard side of the boat, Nyna fell to her knees and clasped her hands in prayer. Marth went around to the other side and knelt down in the sand, took Caeda's hand in his and kissed the back of it.  
 _Caeda..._

"From the sea, we are born," said King Mostyn, his hair looking even greyer in this light, "and to the sea, we return." He looked down at Caeda with a bittersweet smile.  
"And now, my child, it is time for you to return."  
Marth stood there, Caeda's hand still in his, his eyes watering from the strong smoke of the incense as King Mostyn cleansed the body with it. He placed them in a ceramic holder at her feet, in front of the white lilies that were spread out there. He held a small vial of what looked like water over the smoke and muttered something Marth couldn't make out before sprinkling it over Caeda's body.

Somewhere from the town, a church bell rang out, signaling the first half of the work day was over. The timing sent a chill up Marth's spine. King Mostyn untied the rope that connected the boat to an old wooden spike in the sand, and threw it out to the sea. He nodded to two men who got on either side of the boat, and they began to push when Marth said, "Wait."  
King Mostyn looked at Marth with troubled eyes. "What is it?"  
Marth's gaze faltered and he looked back at Caeda. "There is something I wish to tell her before she leaves me."  
The two men looked to King Mostyn and he nodded.  
"Very well."

Marth knelt down beside Caeda once more, his lips to her ear and he said the first thing that came to mind before kissing her forehead and moving away. He watched as the two men hauled the boat out to sea and let the current grab hold of it. He followed Caeda until she drifted past the horizon and out of view, the smoke from the incense trailing after her.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, light, filled with warmth, and saw Nyna there, her eyes red from mourning. She had pinned her veil back and now he could see her face clearly. Secretly he wished she had left it down, for her face was splotchy from her tears, but he said nothing to her, just looked at her.  
"Marth..." She pulled her gaze away and instead pushed against him, her other arm underneath her as she clung to him. To Marth, it was a foreign gesture, what Nyna was doing. He had certainly been embraced before-his mother used to hold him in her arms all the time as a child, as did his sister - but never in this way. His mother always pulled him to her and hugged him from behind, as was what mothers always did. It was how she protected her children.

Cain looked like he was about to say something, motion for Her Highness to please remove herself, but Marth shook his head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  
"I am sorry," Nyna said, her voice cracking slightly. She pulled away and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I am usually not like this at all."  
Marth shook his head. "It's all right, Princess. We all have a moment of weakness."

He looked out to sea again, the wind blowing even harder now, tousling his hair, ruffling his clothes, almost playfully. He nodded to Cain and Jagen and escorted Princess Nyna over to Cain, who offered her his arm. She took it and mouthed what looked to be like, "Thank you," and carefully walked up the sandy slope, Cain taking care to make sure she didn't fall. Jagen took his time and looked after the two as well as watching his own footing.  
"Shall we head back, Marth?"  
Marth jumped as Merric seemed to appear out of nowhere. He nearly laughed-Merric was covered in sand, as if he had fallen down the sand dunes that led from the shore to the cobblestone roads of the castle town.  
"Yes." He was about to lead the way when Merric stopped him.  
"What?"  
Merric gave him a concerned, serious look. "I'm here for you, you know. If you ever need anything…."  
"Merric-"  
"Promise me," Merric said, and Marth caught the pleading edge to his voice. "Promise me you will come to me if you need help."

Marth didn't know what prompted such concern.  
"Merric-"  
" _Promise me_." He stepped away. "I know you all too well, Marth. I can see right through you. I know when you need to talk, or want to say something but feel you can't. I also know I cannot force you to do so. That's why I want you to come to me." He smiled. "Bishop Wendell always said I was a good listener, after all, and...that's what friends do."  
Marth was touched. "You truly are something, Merric."  
"So you'll come to me if you need anything?"  
Marth nodded. "Yes, I will. Now can we get back to the castle? It's freezing out here and I don't wish to catch a chill."

Merric gestured ahead. "As you wish. Your Majesty first."  
Marth shook his head and would have rolled his eyes if it was proper for him to do so. "I am not a king yet."  
"No, you're right," Merric conceded. "But you will be."  
"I have a war to win first."  
"True enough. We will win it, though."  
"We can't afford to _not_ ," Marth said, and watched as Merric slid back down the slope. "Merric, you're a mage, aren't you?"  
"Yes!"  
"Can't you carry yourself up here using the power of wind or something?" Marth was at the top now.  
"I could, but I'd end up destroying this beautiful sand dune!"

Marth sighed and, as Merric struggled to regain his footing, looked out to the horizon once more before looking down at his hand.

 _I will never love another as much as I loved you._


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't go back, he can only move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a lot of problems because A) I hate writing weddings and B) I never did much about coronations. I've never even looked into them. So I did some meta or whatever about it and [](http://mark-asphodel.livejournal.com/profile)[**mark_asphodel**](http://mark-asphodel.livejournal.com/) basically told me to just make things up. So I did. Well, for the most part I did. I ~~stole~~ borrowed a lot from the Romans, 'cause they're cool, and I'm a geek. [](http://raphien.livejournal.com/profile)[**raphien**](http://raphien.livejournal.com/) gave me links and suggestions that helped a lot, so thanks for that. (Also I lost about 49583454 hours of my life looking at those links.)

The sun was high up in the sky today, with warm weather and light blue skies above. Though many were relieved to see the warm, beautiful weather as a sign from the heavens that the war was finally over, Marth was not able to rejoice with them. He smiled and celebrated with them, of course, because he was expected to, but deep down there were too many emotions welled up inside, many of which he couldn't even name.

Marth managed to eventually escape the festivities and find a quiet area not too far away from the camp, yet not too close so as to be disturbed. He had a lot on his mind and he needed to prioritize it. He found a felled tree and sat on it, careful to avoid splinters since it looked particularly old.

 _It's over_ , he thought. _It's finally over._

His hand went to a pendant hanging from a chain around his neck and toyed with it absent-mindedly.

 _Father… Mother… Caeda… You can all rest easy now. I took up arms against our oppressors and won._

"Marth."

Nyna appeared from behind a group of trees, her skirts hiked up enough so she wouldn't trip over the tree roots littering the path. She approached him carefully so she wouldn't fall, and Marth stood instinctually.

"Princess…."

Nyna motioned for him to sit as she slowly sat on the rotted log, her skirts arranged around her. He sat back down, but not before moving over, enough so their elbows would no longer be touching. She smiled softly at him.

"You should be celebrating with the others."

Marth focused on his hands. "I met with them before. This celebration is for them, not me." He looked back towards the camp. "I needed some time alone, away from them."

Nyna nodded. "I just wanted to thank you."

He looked at her strangely. "Thank me? For what do you owe me thanks?"

Nyna smiled. "For saving our world, for defeating Medeus, for…so many things, Marth."

Marth shook his head. "I am not the only one you should be thanking, Princess Nyna. I couldn't have done this alone. Many fought by my side… Many also fought by my side and died as well." His voice grew quieter as he realized just what this war had cost him.

"You loved her, didn't you?"

"Loved who?" He shifted on the log—it wasn't very comfortable at all, worse than what he had used during the war. He cleared his throat, unhappy with how his voice was coming out, choked and strained.

"Caeda."

Marth laughed, and though it might have been convincing to Nyna (it certainly looked like she was convinced, or at least confused), it didn't sound real to his ears at all.

"What makes you think—"

He closed his mouth when he saw Nyna's look, a look of such intensity the likes of which he had never seen from the Archanean princess.

"I don't have to think, Marth," she said, and it sounded like she was scolding him. "I know."

Marth didn't want to know how she knew. The fact that she knew at all surprised him.

"If there is something you wish to tell me, feel free to," Nyna said, and the way she spoke reminded him of his mother, how she would speak to him after a nightmare. Marth hesitated.

"…She was the one I most wanted to keep safe. But I failed, and I have lost her forever." He sounded so bitter. "Caeda… Why did you take up arms with a fool like me?" He muttered the last part.

 _One more injustice to add to my list._

"Marth, it does you no good to blame yourself. Remember Anri and Artemis. We are their descendants; perhaps we were always meant to share their curse as well as their blood."

 _The curse to never find happiness in love._ Marth knew the story well.

"This peace we have attained must be cherished. We made a lot of sacrifices for it." She grasped at his hand, and he flinched. "Let us work together to ensure none must endure a tragedy like ours again."

 _Work together?_

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're getting at."

"I have done a lot of thinking during this past year," Nyna confessed, her gaze elsewhere. "I have been advised to seek a man to marry as soon as possible. Archanea needs a king, after all." She looked to him again.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Nyna still did not look at him.

"You are one of my choices," she said simply. "Should you want to."

 _My wants have nothing to do with anything._

Marth gently placed a hand on top of hers and smiled softly.

"I would be honored to be your—" He couldn't make himself say the word 'husband'. "—king."

He knew the smile on his face was fake, but when she smiled so genuinely and her eyes lit up, he knew his only option was to go along with it.

oOo

 _It seems like I just returned here, and now I am leaving again._

Marth was still not one for ships, even for a ride as short as this—Jagen said it would only take a day and a half to reach Archanea at their current speed. He said his goodbyes to Altea once more and watched as it disappeared into the horizon, his heart with it.

In three days' time, he would no longer be the prince of Altea.

When they entered Archanea's main port a day later, there were people on the dock to greet him, each dressed in robes that signified they were of some importance in the court. "Welcome to Archanea, Prince Marth," Boah said, and bowed. The people behind him followed suit.

"If you would follow me, I will lead you to your place of residency until the wedding."

Marth gestured to Jagen behind him. "What about my escort?"

Boah sighed. "You have a lot to learn, Your Highness. We will provide you with escorts if they are needed."

"But—"

"Sire," said Jagen, "do not concern yourself with me. You must do what you have to do."

Marth hesitated a little while longer before reluctantly following Boah, leaving Jagen at the docks.

 _You have a lot to learn, Your Highness_. Boah's words echoed in his mind. _A lot to learn_.

The palace was huge, but Marth expected this—Archanea was the hub of the entire continent, after all. Though he thought it was quite lovely, with its marble work and the plush runners that seemed to go on and on forever, it felt alien to him. How could he ever consider this 'home'?

 _There are no tapestries hanging from the walls_ , Marth thought. _It looks as if no one really lives here_.

After what seemed to be a labyrinth of staircases and hallways, he was shown into a sparsely decorated room, and the door was closed behind him. It looked like he was in a sitting room of sorts, and upon further examination, he found a door that led into a small bedroom, with just the bare necessities. In the sitting room, in the corner farthest from the bedroom door, was a chair big enough to seat two of him, a table next to that with a large tome on it, and what looked to be a cushioned bench.

"This room is smaller than my sitting room back in Altea," he said. He wasn't expecting an overly extravagant room, either—but for a guest room meant for a foreign dignitary? He expected something a little more impressive, especially since the palace was known for its rather large and expansive rooms. He sat on the chair and glanced at the book on the nearby table.

"'Archanea's Traditions and History'," Marth read, and opened to the first page, where a piece of parchment was folded. He took that out and read it quickly.

"'I thought this might be of use to you.'" It was signed by Nyna, and Marth sighed.

 _Just because I come from Altea doesn't mean I am completely ignorant of other countries' traditions_.

Nevertheless, he noticed certain pages marked by a slim piece of parchment, and decided that those were the relevant traditions needed in order to perform well at the wedding. As he read, he couldn't help but mentally compare everything to Altea's traditions.

oOo

After being in Archanea for two days and burning the midnight oil hunched over books on Archanean tradition and decorum, Marth did not appreciate being awoken at dawn. He wouldn't have minded it so much if it was a familiar face waking him, but he did not know this person at all, and they seemed to be in awe of him.

"Why have you awoken me?"

"Begging your pardon, Prince Marth," the maid said, "but you must be prepared for your wedding."

Marth blinked in confusion. "But why at dawn?"

"It takes _hours_ , Your Highness. We have to start now. Now if you would please get up, Srilu will begin the cleansing process."

The girl, whose name was Amelia, wasn't lying when she said it took hours. First she locked him in the wash room with a girl named Srilu, whose accent was hard to understand at first. He nearly fell into the tub, and when he managed to get half-way in, he realized the water was absolutely freezing. When he questioned why, Srilu said, "Cold water cleanses the body as well as the mind of any impurities."

 _I can't feel the lower half of my body._

Once he was good as frozen, he was pulled out and given a towel so he could dry himself off. Srilu insisted she do it for him, but Marth was taught that girls should not see boys naked until their wedding night, let alone _touch_ them. She ended up drying the upper half of his body because he "wasn't doing it correctly."

 _What have I stepped into?_

Marth, half naked and with naught but a towel covering him, was confronted by three other girls in his room. Marth, used to dressing himself, was absolutely mortified when the girls insisted he let them dress him, saying, "That is the way things are."

Marth was left by his bed as the girls assembled the pieces of his outfit on his bed, starting with the underclothes. Marth simply closed his eyes and pretended he was back in Altea, back when Merric used to live there with them as a part of his nobility training. Merric was the only one he would let dress him, and he imagined, in his head, that Merric was the one dressing him in article after article of heavy, overly starched clothing.

"Prince Marth, you should open your eyes or you will stumble."

Marth opened his eyes and was led over to a mirror tucked away neatly in the corner of his bedroom.

 _That looks nothing like me_. He looked closely at himself in the mirror. From the neck and up he looked like himself, but below that and it was like looking at a stranger. For one thing, Marth rarely, if ever, wore green, let alone a green tunic such as this. It was certainly fancy looking, with rather ornate filigree, or whatever the clothing equivalent of filigree was, with epaulettes on the shoulders. His trousers and mantle were both white, another colour Marth didn't wear often, not even to Altea's fanciest banquets. Marth noticed one thing missing.

"Where is my diadem?"

One of the girls came forward. "I have it right here, Prince Marth."

He took it from her and placed it on his head. He felt a little more comfortable now that he had something from Altea on him that _didn't_ look foreign. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and another one of the girls handed him his rapier. He looked at it as if he had never seen one before.

"Your Highness is supposed to wear that."

Marth attached the sheath to the loop on his sword belt and smoothed out his clothes. He could do this.

It wasn't like he really had a say in the matter.

oOo

To Marth, it was all a blur. He remembered the doors to the palace opening and being ushered down the aisle, Merric at his side, looking into the faces of people he didn't really know well, or at all even. He supposed he should have felt nervous— _What if I mess something up?_ —but instead he just went through the motions of everything, just as Boah told him. He took his place at the front of the palace near Boah and watched the back of the mess hall anxiously.

He didn't remember when Nyna entered, but he remembered her walk down the aisle, how calm she looked as Hardin escorted her down.

"Why is Prince Hardin here?" Marth whispered to Merric. "I thought King Aurelis was supposed to escort Princess Nyna?"

"He fell ill," Merric answered, "and sent Prince Hardin instead."

Linde and a few other girls trailed behind her, holding the train of Nyna's dress, dressed in ivory gowns as a contrast to Nyna's light purple. Marth was not surprised at the colour choice since in Archanea it was a sign of royalty, though if she were to get married in Altea, it would have been ivory instead, like her bridesmaids. Even now he compared the two kingdoms. She arrived in front of Boah, right next to Marth, and Hardin next to her. Her bridesmaids stood on her side.

Marth barely remembered anything Boah said. He knew Boah asked who was giving Nyna away, and Hardin spoke up and turned towards him with such a calm look. Marth remembered his eyes, though, and the hurt that burned in them. Hardin took Nyna's wrist then, and said, "I give you this girl, so that she may become your wife and mother of your children." He placed Nyna's hand on top of Marth's open palm.

"I accept."

Boah placed a length of silk cord over their hands and said words in a tongue Marth didn't understand. In fact, there were a lot of things Marth didn't understand, but he responded when he needed to and promised to love Nyna for the rest of their lives before placing the ring on her finger, one of the last symbols that marked her as a married woman, the woman of his choosing, or so the vows went.

Marth almost forgot to kiss his bride, and didn't remember the kiss itself at all. All he remembered was walking out of the mess hall with Nyna on his arm, and two finely dressed men whispered something in his ear before leading him off to a place Marth didn't know at all.

oOo

"Where are you taking me?"

The two men showed him into yet another room, where the same group of girls from before were waiting for him with clothing that looked even more ornate than what he was already wearing.

"You must be dressed for your coronation," was all one man said before they took their leave. Marth sighed and let Srilu and Amelia undress him again.

The minutes ticked by slowly and Marth felt like he was encased in a suit of armor instead of actual clothing. It was heavy and stiff and it had a rather strange smell. His clothes were so heavy, in fact, that his arms felt like they were weighed down by lead blocks. The fabric was definitely expensive, and soft against his skin, and when they presented him to the mirror he looked even less recognizable than he did before.

"My diadem—"

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but you won't need it any longer," said Amelia, who placed the diadem with the rest of his things.

 _Won't need it?_ Hearing that caused his heart to plummet into his stomach. _But that is all I have left of Altea._

"I understand," Marth said, willing himself to remain calm.

 _Marriage is about sacrifice_ , Marth thought. _Isn't that what Bishop Boah said? Everything requires sacrifices._

The door opened and one of the men from before was there in the doorway.

"They are ready for you, Prince Marth."

Marth nodded and tried to look happy. The man gestured out into the corridor, and Marth left, but not before looking back at everything that used to be his.

oOo

Marth was not prepared for the long walk to the palace proper, or for the early summer heat, or for there to be so many people waiting for a chance to see their soon-to-be king. Marth felt so awkward in these kinds of clothes, afraid the weight of them would cause him to fall to his knees. He touched the spot on his head where his diadem would normally be and he frowned when he remembered its absence. That was the object that marked him as the prince of Altea, as the son of King Cornelius and Queen Liza, heir apparent to Altea's throne.

He felt like nothing right now. Nothing but a seventeen year old boy in fancy clothing.

Marth was led down a path lined with knights in full regalia, Archanea's citizens behind them clamoring for a peek at their new king. Marth did not look at the citizens nor at the knights—he was more focused on trying to not trip on the heavy robes they dressed him in. The oversized double doors leading into the palace opened and Marth walked up the palace steps, a look of confidence on his face as he focused on each step he made. Bishop Boah was waiting for him a little ways from the dais of the throne.

The beginning of his coronation, like his wedding, was a blur of motions and words and prayers in a language Marth could barely recognize. Boah took the king's crown and said some sort of blessing over it before asking Marth to repeat after him.

"I, Marth, promise and pledge in the sight of the gods and on this crown that I will be the protector and defender of Archanea in all ways useful to her."

Boah placed the crown on Marth's head, and though it was quite heavy, he suffered under its weight in silence.

 _Father's crown wasn't this heavy_. He supposed the weight of the crown was relative to the size of its kingdom.

"Do you promise and pledge on this sword to fight for and protect Archanea and lead her to victory in all her battles?"

"I do." He felt a heavy weight in his hands and saw, upon looking down slightly, that it was a ceremonial sword, one similar to a sword used for knighting ceremonies.

Marth felt them drape a mantle over his shoulders and Boah blessed him by sprinkling some sort of oil on him.

"In the name of the gods, I have crowned you the King of Archanea."

Boah bowed down before Marth, and everyone else in the room did the same.

"Your Imperial Highness's throne awaits…"

Marth walked the remaining distance between the dais and his coronation spot, his body numb as he walked up the steps of the dais and turned around to face Archanea's citizens— _his_ citizens now. He could tell they were applauding, but he couldn't hear their celebration over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

He sat down on the throne at last and as his eyes scanned the crowd, he realized just how out of place he felt.

 _This is not my kingdom_ , he thought, as he smiled and waved to his subjects. _This is not my home, and yet…_

There, towards the back of the crowd, was a flash of blue, and when he focused his eyes he could just make out the familiar, comforting image of a woman.

 _My dear sister. I must leave Altea in your hands, at least for now_.

oOo

Marth was ushered into his bedroom, the one he would now share with his wife, and heard the door click behind him. There were servants there to help him remove his clothes, and Marth, bogged down by exhaustion, gladly let them do all the hard work as they dressed him in his bedclothes. He climbed into bed and the servants closed the canopy of the bed before leaving for the night.

Marth was surprised Nyna was still awake, but she was. He couldn't make out much in the dark, but he was all right with that. He settled under the covers and he felt her move closer to him, one arm draped over his side.

"You do know what has to happen now, don't you?" Nyna whispered.

"Not tonight," Marth murmured, unable to look at her now. "I had a rather exhausting day."

"Marth." Nyna sounded so serious now. "I know you are unaware of Archanea's laws and traditions, and they are probably vastly different from Altea's, but it is the law here."

"What is law here? That I must make love to my wife?" Marth wished he could see her face in the dark. He hated not knowing people's reactions.

"In a word, yes. Otherwise I am still not your wife."

Nyna caressed his face and Marth had to try so very hard to not move away.

"I know this is hard for you, but can you at least try?"

Marth blinked. "I never said anything was difficult for me. I said I was tired."

"Marth." She sounded like she was pleading now. "This is something you must do."

Marth took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He should have been used to this already, doing things because that was 'just the way things were'. She took the initiative and kissed him, her lips were soft against his.

 _Like Caeda's_ , he thought, and that sparked something inside of him. _Just like Caeda's_.


End file.
